Nor was she regarded with admiration by Edouard, who lounged indolently nearby. Not for Edouard was the lure of the tables; he would not risk a few pounds he could ill afford to lose, and had only contempt for those foolish young bloods that gambled vastly beyond their means. His feelings for Minette were little more charitable. He had been waiting to speak privately with her for some time.
Patience was not Edouard’s long suit. He reached out, touched her arm. “Enough!” he murmured. “I wish a word with you,
ma petite.”
If there was anything Minette did
not
wish, it was further speech with her kinsman. All the same, he must be humored. Laughing at the dismay of the players, who much preferred to watch a female elbow shaker, she signaled Orphanstrange to take her place. Then she exchanged a few words of condolence with a young gentleman who had gone down to the tune of sixty guineas during the short time he’d spent at play.
At last she turned to her kinsman, with a far from friendly glance.
“Eh bien!
You do not carry your walking stick tonight.”
She dared accuse him? Edouard decided to be amused. “So I do not. How attentive you are to the details of my toilette. Am I to consider myself flattered, Minette?”
“La vache!
Do not try and change the subject.” Minette exhibited a great deal less charm to her kinsman than she’d shown the guests. “If you seek to enact the man-milliner, it is nothing to me, Edouard— Although you will never make a Brummell, try as you might. You have not the disposition. Brummell would never go about knocking ladies over the head with his walking stick.”
Edouard took an involuntary, menacing step forward, then recalled where they were. Softly, he murmured: “Tread cautiously, Minette.”
But Minette was tired of being cautious. Too, they stood in a crowded room. Edouard would not dare offer assault before so many witnesses. “It is you who should be careful, Edouard,” she retorted, her tone equally low. “Mademoiselle Beaufils is not without allies, Stirling among them. Whatever his reason, Stirling sticks as close to Vashti as pickpockets at a fair.”
“Vraiment?”
Edouard spared a glance for his lordship, embarked again upon an effort to break the faro bank, working on the theory that there was more than one way to close down a gambling house. Then he glanced at Lionel, lounging near the doorway. “Mountjoy’s solicitor is also sticking as close as a court-plaster. I ask myself,
chérie,
why is that?”
Minette shrugged, thus drawing her kinsman’s attention to her extreme
décolletage
. “He has no doubt been apprised of the attempt on Mademoiselle’s life. But I am forgetting your ignorance on that topic. She surprised an intruder who assaulted her with his walking stick.”
And how had Mademoiselle Beaufils known a walking stick was employed? Edouard elevated his brows. “Fascinating!” he murmured. “Perhaps the incident has taught Mademoiselle the folly of wandering about unescorted in the middle of the night.”
“So it
was
you!” Minette’s eyes narrowed. “You gave yourself away, Edouard. I did not say at what time of day the incident occurred.”
“You wound me,
ma cocotte.”
Edouard paused to remove a speck of lint from his immaculate sleeve. “You are very quick you are to believe the worst of your own kinsman. It is very bad of you.
À vrai dire,
I already knew of Mademoiselle Beaufils’ accident. The affair is no great secret. But the version I heard is that the chit stumbled into a secret passage and locked herself in a hidden room.”
Minette eyed her kinsman’s impassive face, her outburst of temper quickly succeeded by dismay. “That is the explanation being put about,” she admitted, “but—”
“But you are quite in a fright lest there is some more sinister accounting, and you think of all possible candidates for villain, the most likely is myself.” Casually, Edouard took her arm. “You know how greatly I desire possession of a certain item, and think that to secure it I would go to any lengths.
Ma chère,
you are perfectly correct.”
Minette’s green eyes widened; she had not expected an admission of guilt. “Then you did—”
“I did what,
petite?”
Edouard smiled. “Assault Mademoiselle Beaufils? What foolishness. Your imagination has grown a trifle overheated, I fear. Next, you will insist that I wish
you
harm. Which would be singularly ridiculous, would it not?”
“Would it?” Minette contemplated the hand which painfully gripped her arm.
“Ma foi.”
Still Edouard smiled. “Have you forgotten, Minette, that my affections have become fixed?”
How could she forget it? The mere thought made Minette wish to cast up her accounts. Covertly, she eyed the doorway. Lionel was studiously looking away. If Edouard knew she had confided in the solicitor— It did not bear thinking on. As did not the possibility that Lionel might discover some of Mountjoy House’s more portable furnishings were unaccounted-for. Between the two of them, Minette was feeling as nervous as a cat on hot bricks.
“You are very quiet,” murmured Edouard. “Perhaps you doubt my sincerity. You think I am using you to gain access to Mountjoy House. Is it Mountjoy who taught you to be so cruel, Minette?”
“Cruel, am I? Yet I am not the one of us who is twisting the other’s arm!” Abruptly, he released her. Minette rubbed her abused limb. “You have not mentioned the most interesting
on-dit
of all, Edouard. Perhaps you have not heard it. The rumor is that Mountjoy House is haunted.”
“A ghost?” Edouard recalled the queer old woman who’d given him a sharp shove. He had not thought ghosts so corporeal, before. Not that he had a basis for that opinion, having never before encountered one. “I fear that you are trying to bamboozle me,
ma cocotte.”
Minette feigned indifference. “I am only telling you what is being said. Mademoiselle Beaufils claims to have carried on a conversation with a ghost—an old woman, I collect—and won’t be persuaded otherwise. Me, I have never been so honored, so I would not know. But anyone will tell you there is no old woman living in the house.”
So Edouard had already been told, having taken the opportunity to ask discreet questions of the ex-pugilist who dissuaded unhappy gamblers from violence, as well as Orphanstrange. All the same, he thought there must be some explanation of the creature who had assaulted him, other than that her fondness for Mountjoy House had led her back to it from beyond the grave.
He also thought Minette knew what that explanation was. “I fear that you are a trifle lacking in principle,
chèrie.
For what purpose, I ask myself, do you seek to persuade me of the existence of this ghost? Can it be you wish to frighten me away from Mountjoy House? That would be very foolish, Minette. I do not frighten so easily.”
Clearly, he did not, to Minette’s infinite regret. She must somehow allay his suspicions. And why was it everyone regarded her with mistrust? Minette was merely a young woman forced to seek her own way in the world. Yet Delphine vowed she was up to mischief, and was on the way to persuading Orphanstrange to think the same. Minette’s own kinsman didn’t trust her, and even Lionel misdoubted her, for all he was
épris.
Again, Minette glanced at that young man. He caught her gaze and blushed. Lest Edouard note this exchange, Minette looked quickly away.
Vashti, too, dealt warily with her, mused Minette, continuing her silent catalogue. Minette rather liked Mademoiselle Beaufils, who—in light of Marmaduke’s tales—was a puzzle in herself. Minette next studied Lord Stirling, currently engaged in a desultory conversation with the young woman who presided over the faro bank. Vashti was more than a little taken with Stirling, in Minette’s opinion; but as to his lordship’s sentiments, she hadn’t a clue. Delphine’s report that Stirling had been kissing Vashti didn’t necessarily signify anything, even if true. His lordship had obviously kissed many a young lady in his time. And he divided his efforts evenly between pursuing Vashti, and asking interminable questions of anyone he could comer and trying to break the faro bank.
But this was no fit moment to ponder Stirling’s motives; if she was to allay Edouard’s suspicions, Minette must concentrate.
“Mon dieu!
What is this maggot you have taken into your head? You are going to offer me a highly flattering alliance,
n’est-ce pas?
A young lady does not try and frighten away her beaux.”
Edouard, who had passed the interim of Minette’s silence observing a rubber or two of piquet, now frowned at her. “Young ladies wishful of contracting flattering alliances do not accuse their beaux
of
having maggots in the head. As to that alliance—I have been thinking, Minette.”
The intelligence that her kinsman’s cogitative facilities had been hard at work did not enchant Minette. “Oh?” she cautiously inquired.
“Oui.”
Edouard enjoyed the wary expression on his kinswoman’s face. “We shall rub on very well together,
chérie.
You will enjoy living in the highest style.”
“So you have said before.” Minette liked these professions no better on second hearing. So that Edouard might not read these unflattering sentiments, Minette lowered her eyes.
“Matters draw fast to a crisis,” murmured Edouard. “The English grow increasingly indignant at the confiscation of British vessels driven by weather onto the French coast. A letter sent to the French consul at Hull was intercepted by the post-office authorities and discovered to contain a plan of Hull harbor and full details of its approaches. The peace will not endure much longer. I must have that memorandum before hostilities break out anew.”
Minette fluttered her long lashes. “You wish to be clasped to the Corsican’s bosom. I had forgot.”
Edouard glanced at Minette’s own bosom, which was largely exposed. Unlike Lionel, when his gaze encountered that bounteous vista, which it frequently did, Edouard did not blush. “You forgot?
Ma chère,
this will not do. Must I recall to you that our future is at stake?
Tout de même,
I will not scold you. I understand how it is. You have been at sixes and sevens with the mishap encountered by Mademoiselle Beaufils. You fear another such mishap might occur—perhaps even to yourself.”
Was there a threat in her kinsman’s words? Minette thought it likely. Prudently, she refrained from comment.
Edouard’s lips twisted sarcastically. “
Ma
pauvre petite!
Reassure yourself. I have no intention that, whilst about my errands, you will receive your death blow. Indeed, I have hit upon the perfect means to insure you do not. See how concerned I am for your welfare? It is further proof of how high you stand in my affections, Minette.”
None knew better than Minette her kinsman’s dislike of opposition and the summary manner in which he dealt with those who put themselves in his way. By his declaration, her apprehensions were not eased. “What is this plan of yours to secure my welfare?” she asked, absently smoothing the flimsy material of her dress.
“It is brilliant in its simplicity; you will applaud me.
Enfin,
we shall become betrothed.”
“Become—” Minette had not expected Edouard would carry this charade so far. Involuntarily, she glanced at the doorway.
“You exhibit an uncommon interest in that puppy.” Edouard’s voice was soft and menacing. “And he in you,
ma chère.”
“Voyons!”
With amazement, Minette masked her alarm. “What is this dog-in-the-manger attitude? What puppy is this you talk about, Edouard?”
She thought him jealous? Edouard did not argue, though in truth he had no romantic interest in Minette. She was a comely enough chit, as attested by the admiring glances cast her by the gaming gentlemen, glances not entirely motivated by her revealing gown. But better matches than Minette would be available to Edouard, once he returned with the memorandum to France. “Mountjoy’s solicitor,” he retorted. “Oh, yes, I know who he is. Your interest in the young man is obvious enough that I took it upon myself to make inquiries.”
In Minette’s opinion, her kinsman was a great deal too acute. “Bah!” she said, airily. “You refine too much upon it, Edouard.”
“I trust I do,
petite.
It would be too bad if the estimable solicitor met with an accident, eh? But to return to our betrothal. You see that it will be an admirable reason for me to visit Mountjoy House at whim. We may conduct our search with less difficulty. And you,
ma chère,
will be able to catch up on your beauty rest. We cannot have you looking worn to the bone when we return to France.” Mockingly, he kissed her hand.
Before she returned to France with her kinsman, reflected Minette, she would go to the devil in a handcart. The latter did not seem an entirely unlikely prospect, in any event. Had not the gods turned against her? Lionel would think her the greatest flirt in nature when he learned of her betrothal to another man.
But what choice had she? Lionel must be kept safe, and Vashti must also be protected from further encounters with unknown assailants in the dead of night. Not only fondness for Vashti prompted this conclusion. On a more practical level, there were Orphanstrange and Delphine to consider. A deceased benefactress could provide for no one.
Minette fought down her revulsion. “It will be as you say, Edouard.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I cannot like him,” Vashti said somberly. “Not that I would ever say so to Minette. I don’t think he is the right sort of gentleman for her—indeed, I had begun to wonder if perhaps Mr. Heath—you will say I’m the worst sort of busybody, but I venture to guess Minette herself is having doubts, because I have yet to see her evidence the least degree of enthusiasm about her approaching nuptials.”
Among the numerous appellations bestowed at various times upon his companion by Lord Stirling, “busybody” had not been included, and Vashti’s condemnation of herself as such brought forth his ironic smile. “You are concerned about the chit.”
“And should not I be? Minette is my responsibility.” Vashti looked unseeingly upon the passing vista—elegant townhouses and pretty shops, vehicles of varying sizes and descriptions, innumerable street-vendors and pedestrians from every station in life. “Moreover, I like Minette.”